


Short Skirts and Small Spaces

by shealynn88



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, post-One Angry Veronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Right now she could be home, watching Eurotrip with Backup and Wallace.  Instead, she was shut in a small, stuffy space with the leader of the local biker gang at midnight.
Relationships: Veronica/Weevil
Kudos: 31





	Short Skirts and Small Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Ask Questions Later](http://lex-83.livejournal.com/70120.html) challenge.
> 
> **For this scenario, from the 'Action Hero's Handbook':**  
>  _How to Turn Sexual Tension into Mad, Passionate Sex_
> 
> _A true action hero must know how to take the natural tension that exists in any adventure and turn it into something more passionate. Two people thrown together in dire circumstances already have a pretty good chance of hooking up—in the face of adversity, sexual tensions run rampant. However, in order to move things to the next level, you need to recognize the signs, signals, and opportunities that present themselves along the way. So make your move only after you have reached the safe house, the shower, or the Motel 6..._  
> 

_How do I get myself into these things?_ Veronica wondered as she tried not to fall against Weevil in the confines of Vinnie Vanlowe's office closet.

Strictly speaking, it had been _Weevil_ that had gotten her into this. He'd asked her to help his cousin Nina, who had lost custody of her kids after her junkie husband accused her of being a hooker.

Veronica sighed. Right now she could be home, watching _Eurotrip_ with Backup and Wallace while her dad was out of town. Instead, she'd gotten caught up in the injustice of this whole situation and now she was shut in a small, stuffy space with the leader of the local biker gang at midnight.

 _What_ would _the 'Action Heroine's Handbook' have to say?_ she wondered with a sigh. It would probably go on about the potential for sexual tension in such a situation. And then it would recommend some suave move with a hairpin and a walkie talkie, of which she had neither.

To hell with the handbook. This small space was not exactly making her feel sexy _or_ heroic.

Actually, the words that came immediately to mind were, 'unsettled' and 'sweaty.' The walls were closing in on her and the air was thick and stale. She felt a little like Princess Leia in the trash compactor. Only, with way better clothes and less hair…and apparently not quite so much spunk. She swallowed hard and tried to relax, distracting herself by reviewing the case.

She'd actually learned quite a bit in the past few days. For instance, she'd discovered that Cliff was Nina's husband's lawyer and that he didn't like him much. She'd discovered (from Cliff's briefcase, which he'd left next to his desk when he went to get a cup of coffee) that the husband, Carlos, had found someone to testify that he'd picked up Nina on the strip and had paid her for sex. And, with a little help from Weevil at his most intimidating, she'd discovered that Nina's supposed john had been hired by one Vinnie Vanlowe.

That _particular_ discovery was the one that had lead her into this unnerving, very long moment in the closet, as she and Weevil waited for whoever was humming quietly outside the door to go away so that they could find and copy the case file.

Whoever it was, they were certainly taking their time, and Veronica was running out of things to keep her from remembering her _last_ stint in a dark, enclosed space. Her chest felt tight and the air around her was sweltering.

She felt Weevil lean forward, his mouth against her ear. "Hey, you okay?" he whispered, putting a hand lightly on her arm.

Veronica nodded slowly, not daring to say anything. She wondered what had given her away. The uneven breathing? The shaking hands? Or maybe the _Star Wars_ theme on fast-forward in her head…

Weevil stayed close. "Easy, now," he murmured. "Just breathe. It'll only be another minute." She nodded a little too vehemently, overy aware of the rising heat.

The air was getting thicker by the second and she was breathing through her teeth in a gross parody of Sigourney Weaver, a la _Ghostbusters._

 _Just call me Dana the dog-faced girl,_ she thought wryly. The urge to giggle hysterically began warring with her previous need to beat helplessly on the closet door.

She stifled both impulses with a force of will, since either was likely to damage her reputation as Neptune's resident snarky detective, not to mention get them caught. Unfortunately, the full-body trembling was a little harder to suppress.

"V?" Weevil's low whisper was full of concern. After a moment she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she let him turn her around. "Hey," he whispered, drawing her against him. "You're okay." He held her comfortably—his grip loose enough that she could pull away, firm enough that she felt grounded.

She felt briefly obligated to pull back. Somehow, getting comforted by Weevil didn't seem like a great idea for her reputation, either. But it was certainly an improvement over the other options she'd been contemplating, and, surprisingly, it was actually _helping._ The earthy scent of leather and spice acted as an anchor, keeping her in the present. The feel of his body, solid and real against her, reminded her that she wasn't alone. This time was different—she wasn't locked in; she wasn't burning.

The rising panic and the suffocating heat eased a little, and she was able to slow her breathing to something approximating normal. She let herself relax, grateful for Weevil's silent support.

As the seconds ticked by she began to notice little things. How easily she fit against him. How her head rested perfectly against his shoulder. How he moved, ever so slightly, until she could feel the ghost of his face against hers. She closed her eyes as his breath slid along her cheek, stirring her hair. The frightening new warmth that coiled through her had nothing to do with her claustrophobia.

Maybe that handbook had a point. She swallowed hard.

Now, if only she had a hairpin.

The door to the room outside opened and shut and Veronica took a deep breath, trying to remember why she was in the closet in the first place.

_Oh, yeah. Custody case. Favor for a gang leader. It's all coming back to me now._

She stepped to the closet door and listened cautiously, waiting for her heartbeat to quiet so she could hear what was going on outside.

When she was sure the room was empty she turned to Weevil, whispering, "All clear," before she opened the door. She felt his hand hovering at her back as they left the closet, and then it fell away.

Veronica tried not to think about the slowly fading warmth in the pit of her stomach as they went through the disorganized filing cabinet and the desk drawers.

Finally she broke the silence, desperate to get back to their comfortable banter. "So," she said with false cheer, "Now you have _prime_ blackmail on me. Little ol' Veronica, afraid of a closet." She snuck a look at him, waiting for the cocky grin that never came.

Instead, Weevil shrugged, still sorting through papers. "Oh, that's nothin'."

She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

He looked up at her. "Clowns."

Veronica grinned at the unexpected admission, torn between gratitude and amusement.

"Clowns?" she asked, trying not to laugh.

He raised an eyebrow at her, challenging. "Hey, my cousin made me watch _It_ when I was, like, four. Shit like that sticks with you."

"Clowns," she stated again, biting her lip.

"Have you ever _seen_ that movie?"

"No, but, come on. _Clowns?_ " She supressed the smile and tipped her head sympathetically. "It's the balloon animals, isn't it?"

He glared at her. "You just wait, Veronica Mars. One of these days, I'm going to sit you down and make you watch—"

He stopped suddenly, and Veronica didn't need to be a detective to know what was going through his mind. Their relationship had not a prayer of progressing past this truce to a comfortable, movie-watching friendship. Or more.

 _Not a prayer,_ she reminded herself sternly.

She was surprised at how much that disappointed her.

She held the file in her hand aloft. "Let's get out of here," she said before the moment got awkward.

Weevil nodded, his expression grim.

* * *

It was an odd sort of torture for Weevil to drive Veronica home after their late night session of B & E. Her hands had slipped under his jacket somewhere between VanBeuren and McCormick, and her touch reminded him of those few precious seconds where she'd trusted him enough to comfort her.

It had been over and forgotten before it had even started, and he knew it hadn't meant anything to her. But every time he thought about it, he ached.

He knew better than this; knew better than to want someone who had been on clean sheets, in nice cars, watched movies in home theaters bigger than his local cinema. There was nothing that he could offer her that she couldn't get from someone else with more money and more status.

A girl from Neptune would have to be crazy to fall for a guy like him—a small time crook with no future; a leader of a gang that was fragmenting.

He parked in front of her apartment complex and flipped up his visor, feeling cold when her hands left his waist.

"I'll see what we have and I'll talk to you tomorrow," she told him, handing him his spare helmet and shaking out her hair.

"Sounds good," he said, nodding gruffly and avoiding her eyes.

When she turned away he watched her walk to her door. He told himself it was to be sure she was safe, to be sure that she could finish her investigation. It wouldn't do Nina any good if Veronica got waylaid.

But it was more than that. One moment holding her in a closet, and he was falling for Veronica Mars.

_Way to go, pendejo._

Weevil flipped down the visor on his helmet and gunned his bike, flying out of the parking lot in a violent spray of gravel.

* * *

Veronica was checking her mascara when the bathroom door opened behind her. The tell-tale hiss of the doorstop sliding under the door told her it was business.

Veronica smiled and turned nonchalantly. "Guess I should put up my shingle again, huh?" she asked Weevil as she leaned against the sink.

He chuckled. "I don't know that this is really considered prime real estate. Your office is probably safe for the moment." His smile faded as he tilted his chin at her. "So, what next, chica?"

She pushed off the sink. "Vinnie doesn't have anyone else on the docket. The john? He's the only thing they had lined up. So, if we can get to Carlos and stop the case, we should be home free. Now, all _you_ need to do is find something we can get on him. Any mistresses?"

Weevil sneered. "Bastard wouldn't care about shit like that. Hell, he'd probably hang the pictures on his fridge."

Veronica smiled. "Okay." She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "Well, you said he was a junkie. Where does he get his stuff?"

Weevil's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Yeah, that might work. I'm sure he gets it on the strip, I'll have to check with Nina and get back to you."

"The sooner the better. Once they find out their boy won't testify they'll go looking for something else. Probably something nastier."

His jaw tightened. "Okay, let me make a call."

She waited quietly, listening to his footsteps as he walked around the corner to the far end of the room. His voice was gentle when he spoke to his cousin, holding none of the wry banter he used with Veronica. She sighed. She was beginning to really _like_ this softer side of Weevil. The side that took care of his family. The side that had held her in the closet and resisted teasing her about it. The side that had casually assured the sanctity of her secret by giving her one of his own.

The softer side of Weevil? Since when had she been a sucker for _Sears_ commercials?

_And those 'bad-boy with a heart of gold' stories always turn out so well._

"You eat something sour?" Weevil asked, coming around the corner.

She realized she'd been grimacing, and she shrugged hastily. "Nope, just appreciating your powerful manly presence," she quipped.

He snorted. "My 'powerful manly presence?' Does _not_ lead to that face you had on." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Ah, yes. Don Juan de Weevil." She sighed theatrically, her hand on her heart. "Is that better? Can we get down to business now?"

He glared at her and shook his head. "Fine. Nina said Carlos usually sees a guy, Alejandro, on the strip every Friday."

"All right! We're getting somewhere. Field trip, then?"

He nodded. "You got it. Pick you up at nine?"

"Perfect," she said, rubbing her hands together. "I always dreamed of riding a motorcycle in a mini-skirt."

Weevil smiled. "Funny, I've had that dream, too."

She raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have the legs for it, but hey, whatever does it for you." She slipped out of the bathroom before he could find a comeback.

* * *

Veronica clung to Weevil as they wove through the uglier side of town on his bike, finally reaching a depth of seediness that usually had her bringing Backup and a multitude of weapons. Tonight, she had Weevil and a taser, and it still didn't feel like enough.

Even so, she dismounted gamely and draped herself on Weevil like any good whore would. She imagined they made an appropriately trashy pair in their leather and velour as they walked half a block to the building where Alejandro Corbeca sold his dope. Veronica hoped it wouldn't take Carlos long to come buy his fix, because she was feeling decidedly exposed.

"Stick close to me," Weevil said softly for the hundredth time. "I don't want anybody getting ideas."

Veronica sighed and rolled her eyes—they'd had this conversation about three times since he'd seen her outfit. "Yeah, I think we've established this. I'm not exactly looking forward to getting hit on in this getup, either, but it'll be better if I just run across the street and get the pictures myself. It shouldn't take long."

"I don't like it," he said gruffly.

"Duly noted," she acknowledged with a curt nod. "Too bad. It'll be easier for me to get what I need if you're not lurking behind me like The Hulk."

His eyes narrowed like he was going to argue again, but Veronica lifted her eyebrows expectantly and he just shook his head. Sometimes being known for your stubbornness came in handy.

A half hour went by, and still, no Carlos. Veronica was starting to feel a little antsy, and despite her careful choice of low heels, her feet were beginning to hurt.

The night took a decided turn for the worse when a police cruiser turned the corner, slowing down a little as it neared them. "Fuzz, incoming," Veronica warned under her breath, tucking herself behind Weevil as the car got closer. If someone in the car recognized her, the game would be over and she would probably be grounded for life. And that was if she was lucky and there was a deputy in the car. If it was Lamb, he'd probably lock her up for prostitution.

Weevil glanced quickly over his shoulder and then slid his arms around her, turning so his body hid her from the patrol car. He caught her eyes with his own and lowered his head as if to kiss her, and Veronica's pulse rushed in her ears. Anticipation blossomed low in her stomach and bled into her limbs, making her overly aware of his hands on her waist and the intensity of his expression. Her eyelids drooped as he got closer…and then his cheek slid against hers, and she felt a sharp shock of disappointment when she realized that he was just making it look good for the sheriff's department.

Disappointment? That was…unexpected.

_Oh, Veronica, what are you doing?_

"Ah, V?" Weevil breathed. "You might want to look like you're enjoying this. Could really put a crimp in your plans if I get picked up for accosting you and your dad finds out how you're spending your evenings."

She nodded just enough that she felt the gentle friction of her cheek on his. Then she slid her arms around his neck and stroked the base of his skull slowly with her fingers. His breath was hot against her ear, and she could feel his chest rising and falling against hers. She was suddenly warmer than she had any right to be, and she trembled a little as she explored the shallow impression at the back of his neck.

Weevil's hands tightened on her waist abruptly and he let out a sharp hiss as her fingers stroked his spine. Veronica closed her eyes and continued her restless exploration.

She felt his head turn slightly, and then his teeth clamped carefully on her earlobe and she gasped. The irregular pounding of her heart deafened her; sharp tingles settled low in her belly and she felt suddenly, desperately out of control. He held the pressure of his teeth for just a moment and then let go just as deliberately, growling low in her ear, "You better watch those fingers, sweetheart, or I won't be responsible for what happens when the cops leave."

Veronica shivered with the dark promise of his words, more afraid of the thrill they evoked than of him. She stopped her fingers with an effort and let her hands fall against each other in an innocent clasp around his neck.

They stood that way for a moment, at an impasse, and then Veronica moved.

She didn't make the decision consciously, she was just suddenly closer, raising her chin and rubbing catlike against his cheek, her lips opened slightly against the soft stubble.

Weevil sighed as he leaned forward and his breath rushed through her hair, made her forget the last hint of the world around her. She felt feverish as his mouth inched down the column of her throat, finally resting over the sensitive skin above her collarbone. Veronica's breath stuttered and her fingers twitched, scraping her nails along the back of his neck.

Whatever had been holding him back broke, and suddenly Weevil's mouth was open against her throat and his tongue was playing over her pulse, and she was hyperventilating and drowning, and god, her blood felt like it was _boiling._ Her eyes opened for just a second, and she saw tail-lights disappearing around the corner as the world went hazy. She knew distantly that they didn't need the charade anymore, but she couldn't make herself stop.

Weevil pulled her closer and one hand slid against the bare skin between her mini-skirt and tank top. She whimpered and pressed against him, and somehow the sharpness of her desire brought her back to herself.

She was on a street corner, for crying out loud, and she was dressed like a hooker and she was on a _case,_ and she was completely losing control, which was just…not the way it was supposed to be. "Weevil," she finally managed to breathe.

His lips grazed her neck, making her shiver, and then rested against her earlobe. _"Veronica,"_ he whispered. His voice was low and husky, and she had to fight to think rationally when he nuzzled her neck and heat burst through her again.

"Weevil, wait!" she insisted shrilly as his tongue flickered over her skin. "Wait," she repeated a little more calmly.

He paused for a moment and then slowly released her. His eyes were molten and dangerous and it made it that much harder for her to think normally again. "I warned you," he said quietly, his voice a little gruff.

For once, she didn't know what to say. And then the reason they were out there in the first place finally decided to show up.

 _There_ is _a god._

"Oh, look," she said gratefully, nodding her head at the figure across the street. "It's Carlos!"

The reason for their stakeout was just slipping into the alleyway. Veronica stepped toward the street, pulling her camera out of her gold pleather purse. She'd tried to fit the zoom into her outfit about six different ways but, phallic as it was, it just hadn't gone with the hooker-chic she'd worked so hard to establish.

Weevil caught her arm. "Be careful," he warned, and she smiled, her trusty mask of confidence in place. She nodded once and then crossed the street, sticking to the shadows. _This_ was comfortable, this skulking around, looking for the money shot. This was where she lived and breathed.

She shook off the aftereffects of too much adrenaline and heat and ducked behind an old car, making some quick adjustments to the camera before resting it on the hood and snapping pictures.

* * *

Weevil took a few deep breaths, trying to get back in business mode. To keep Veronica safe, he needed to be able to observe and analyze like a gang leader. Not lose his mind like a fucking 09er who just got his first kiss.

But watching the shadows didn't keep him from thinking about what had just happened—how she'd fit against him just the way he'd always imagined, how her little whimpers and the scraping of her nails had made him forget everything that stood in their way.

He forced himself to focus when she upped the ante by sliding around the car to crouch against the side of the building. Girl was trying to give him a heart attack.

She was snapping pictures around the corner of the building when Weevil saw a shadow detach itself from the overwhelming darkness and slide toward her. He was on the move before he knew it, running across the street as the shadow resolved into a tall, scruffy guy, probably another dealer. Weevil went cold when the guy grabbed Veronica by the throat.

"Hey," the dealer yelled into the alleyway. "Alejandro, you have an admirer! The putita here was taking your picture!" Weevil saw Veronica reach for her bag, and her attacker backhanded her across the face. Weevil's vision went abruptly red. He was on the guy a moment later driving a fist into his nose and feeling a satisfying snap, then following the guy down as he fell to his knees and released Veronica. Weevil raised his fist again and was sent sprawling by a well-placed kick from behind. Alejandro and Carlos loomed over him, grinning, and Carlos kicked him again. Alejandro caught his cheekbone with a fist and Weevil tasted blood.

Carlos twitched and fell forward, revealing Veronica behind him with taser in hand, her face pale and resolute. When Alejandro turned toward her Weevil threw himself forward, landing a punch that made Alejandro double over. Weevil scrambled to his feet furiously. Rage threatened to blind him as he lashed out. His first kick caught Alejandro in the stomach, his second in the chest.

He stopped when he felt Veronica's hand on his arm, his jaw grinding as he turned toward her.

"Come on," she said quietly. "We got what we came for."

The rage bled away when he saw how she was still gripping the taser with white-knuckled fingers, like she'd forgotten it was there. "Yeah," he said softly.

They walked back to the bike in silence.

Weevil got his first look at the bruises on her cheek and throat when he handed her the spare helmet. Guilt and fury warred inside him, and he wanted to go back and beat the living hell out of the guy that had done this to her.

Instead, he touched her face gently. "Are you okay?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

She shrugged. "Just another day at the office," she joked quietly.

He smiled. "You deserve hazard pay for this one," he said gently, trying to tell her that he was sorry.

Her grin was a little bigger this time and her eyes sparkled with humor. "Anytime you want to add to my college fund, feel free," she said. Then she nodded at the bike. "We should probably get out of here."

He nodded and swung his leg over, feeling a little unsettled until he felt her weight behind him, her arms around his waist.

* * *

She'd asked him into the apartment with a strange combination of guilt and fear and hope.

She hated seeing the cuts and bruises on his face. They reminded her of her father's injuries last summer and of the bus crash. Veronica hadn't ever wanted anyone to get hurt because of her again. Not protecting her, not getting in the way of things meant for her. Weevil had done both tonight, and he'd paid for it.

She touched each of the cuts in succession, burning them into her memory.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, cleaning his face carefully with a warm washcloth.

He laughed softly. "I appreciate your maternal instinct and everything. I'm sure it will do your future children a world of good." He stilled her hand with his, trapping it against his cheek as he met her eyes. "But I've done this a million times, and I imagine I'll do it another million before I'm through."

She smiled at him and her breath caught when her eyes met his. Something dark burned there as he brought her hand down from his cheek, keeping it trapped lightly in his own. Anticipation spread through her like wildfire, eclipsing everything else as she recalled the feel of his lips on her skin.

Her heart pounded as she leaned forward and took over with her mouth where she'd left off with the cloth. Her lips sealed gently over the cut on his eyebrow. She traced it softly with her tongue and then trailed down over his temple, to the cut that lined his cheekbone.

He was completely still against her, like he was holding his breath.

She moved again, her lips never leaving his skin, and kissed the bruise on his jaw as his hands grasped her shoulders lightly.

His breath released, trembling, into her hair. "Veronica," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "What are you doing?" He sounded a little desperate and lost, and it only made her want more.

 _Don't ask,_ she wanted to say. _Don't ask because I have no idea, but it feels_ right, _and I don't want to have to think about it._

What she said, murmuring gently against his skin, was, "I’m claiming hazard pay." And then her mouth captured his split lip, massaging it with her tongue, and he finally responded.

His hands knotted in her hair, pulling her closer as he opened his mouth against hers, breathing roughly.

Their tongues explored recklessly, questing and wanting, and Weevil made tiny growling noises in his throat that made her weak and warm and a little clumsy.

His fingers moved down her back, burning her skin even through her shirt, and she heard herself moan distantly.  
  
She shifted closer, her lips never leaving his. She slid one leg over his thighs, moving slowly until she was sitting on his lap with her legs folded on either side of him. He tensed at first, muscles going hard under her fingers as she traced the edge of his shirt, the line of his sternum, the rippled flat of his abdomen. Finally he relaxed, moaning slightly into her open mouth. His hands explored feverishly, skimming over the sharpness of her shoulder blades and clutching at the back of her neck.

Veronica found the edge of his shirt, untucked on one side, and slid slender fingers underneath, marveling at the softness of his skin and the slight slickness of a long scar. He gasped at the new intimacy and shifted forward, kissing the edge of her mouth and trailing down her throat, his lips insistent and gentle. His teeth nipped fire along the junction of her throat and shoulder as he carefully avoided the bruises that were just a little further up.

She pulled at his shirt impatiently, finally freeing it from his jeans, and then she leaned back, trusting him to follow. Her hands slid against his body as she crumpled the shirt in the twin hooks of her thumbs. She brought it over his shoulders, pulling away from him just long enough to slide it over his head and toss it onto the couch next to them.

He met her eyes with a hunger that made her breath catch, made her want to cry with joy, because she wasn't the only one with this need that was bigger than herself, this desperation that made her feel alive and lost and completely all right.

Their lips clashed with renewed heat and Weevil's hands were quick and gentle under her shirt, dancing across her skin, marking her invisibly. He slid her shirt up and she ducked to get out of it, desperate to feel his mouth on hers again.

She gasped when his fingers splayed over her back, skin to skin, and everything heightened. The next decision was simple. She shifted her knees backward until she was standing bent over, still kissing him, avoiding his hands as he tried to pull her back down. Finally she had to pull back and shake her head.

He let her take his hands, then, and lead him toward her room. She walked backward, unwilling to lose sight of him for even a second.

When they got there she freed her hands reluctantly and turned away, just long enough to pull the sheets loose from her waterbed and lay them on the floor. Then she unfolded the comforter at the foot of her bed and spread it over the sheets. She turned back and looked at him: all glorious muscle and warm skin and a little smile of surprise that was utterly endearing in its uncertainty.

She met his eyes, never looking away as she unbuttoned his jeans with trembling hands and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers to push them off his hips. She watched with fascination as his eyes closed when the cloth fell away. His lips were swollen and his expression—eyes closed in ecstasy, breath fast and sweet—was breathtaking.

That moment of stillness was the calm before the storm. When his eyes opened again he broke against her like a wave, sweeping her into his arms, pressing against her and devouring her with his lips on her mouth, her ear, her throat. His mouth dragged across her shoulder, pushing her bra strap out of the way with a slip of teeth. His hands ghosted over her back, leaving tingling trails in their wake as he worked the clasp of her bra and pulled it down over her arms. His touch was slower and gentler than Logan's, more confident and heated than Duncan's, and then she forgot anyone that had come before, because Weevil slid a hand under the waistband of her skirt and pressed his palm against her in an intimate promise. She bit gently at his throat as he helped her shed the rest of her clothes and laid her down on the comforter.

* * *

The alarm clock on the table said 4:34. Weevil was beside her, his face angelic with a peace that only came with sleep. The light from the lamps in the complex shone blue through the window, bringing his dark tattoos to life, accentuating the curves of muscle in his arms and back. She wanted nothing more than to trace the indentations of muscle with her fingers, her tongue, mark him carefully with tattoos of saliva and aching care that no one else would see, but she didn't want to wake him and erase the peace that came so fleetingly to him. To both of them.

Veronica wanted to freeze the moment forever. Just him, and her, and Backup guarding her bedroom door. Because this, whatever it was, would become inordinately complicated when the night was over. In the light of day, the cuts and bruises would be glaring, like the roadblocks in the way of this relationship. Her father, for one…

God, he was going to hate this. He'd warned her about Weevil for a long time, back when they were barely friends. _This_ was going to be hard to explain, even as understanding as her dad tended to be. How could she make him understand that Weevil was one of the most stable people she knew? How could she explain that he made her feel alive and real and wanted in a way she hadn't in a very long time?

Yeah, probably better not to mention the whole 'wanted' thing...that could lead to another 'birds and bees' talk (and that had been bad enough the first time, thank you), and possibly a loaded gun…

But her father became a non-issue when Veronica's eyes drifted over the belt on the floor, and the worn metal buckle that everyone in the gang wore. A PCHers belt. _The_ PCHer's belt. She wanted to be Weevil's. Eli's. She wanted to walk around town with her hand in his. But she wasn't ready to be a PCHer's girl, and she knew damn well that the PCHer's weren't ready for her. Maybe her father would be hard to convince, but it would be nothing compared to what Weevil would face if he tried to explain her to his gang.

Had Weevil thought about that? She shook her head. It wasn't like he had promised her anything. He hadn't told her they'd be together, hadn't given her a class ring or bracelet or whatever it was that PCHers did. She'd just assumed, from his protective gentleness, that he'd wanted to be with her as much as she'd wanted to be with him. But he had to know that the two of them would cause a lot of friction at school; he had to know it would make his hold on the PCHers that much more tenuous.

Maybe this was all he'd wanted. One night, one stolen moment, and then back to the fray. Back to the way it had been.

The tears fell without warning, one after the other, and she was surprised to find them dropping warm onto her fingers. She got up as quietly as she could, stepping over Backup to get to the bathroom. She ran the water in the sink to cover the sound of her angry sobs. How could she have let this happen? How could she have let herself get so caught up?

She got it under control quickly. She checked her face in the mirror, evaluating the redness around her eyes and the bruises that lit one cheek and her throat. A cold washcloth helped to erase the evidence of her tears and she smiled widely at her reflection. She refused to be one of those girls who were blind to a bad situation. Weevil obviously couldn't be looking for a relationship. Another girl might try to make him feel guilty, but she was better than that. This was her mistake, and she would fix it.

She walked back in and sat next to him, not quite ready to let go. Not when everything was so new and fresh; not when her skin still burned with the remembered heat of his fingers, his tongue, his body. Weakness had her wanting to wrap her arms around him and pillow her head on his chest; wanting to tell him that it had been special, that she'd never forget, that she wasn't sorry, that she wanted to be with him.

But Veronica Mars lived in the real world. She'd seen more of it than she'd ever wanted to. And that was why she wasn't going to touch him or cry on him, or ask him to stay. Because that would make it harder all around, and it wasn't going to change the reality of what this had been. Or what it hadn't.

She fell asleep again, close enough to feel the heat of his body but not quite touching. When she woke again at six, she got dressed and sat on her bed, watching him until his eyes opened and the peace slipped away, replaced with awareness.

His smile was heartbreakingly simple and real. "Hey," he murmured, rolling up onto one arm to look at her.

She smiled, keeping the tears back with iron will. "Hey," she echoed gently. She stood before she lost her conviction, afraid that she would fall to her knees and kiss him until they were both breathless, until she was truly lost.

Instead, she stepped over him. "I have to head out for a while," she said easily. "You'll probably want to go soon. My dad's supposed to be home this afternoon, but sometimes he gets in early."

His expression was stony when she turned back in the doorway, and he just nodded. She fought to keep her smile in place. "I'll get you the pictures Monday at school. You shouldn't have any problem getting the case dropped after that."

"Thanks," he said, expressionless.

She turned away before he could see the tears building in her eyes, and she grabbed Backup's leash on the way out the door. "C'mon boy," she murmured as the pit bull nuzzled her hand.

She managed to drive herself to the beach before the tears escaped, burning their way down her cheeks, over her hands, onto her t-shirt. Veronica finally got out of the car and walked slowly on the deserted beach, leaving Backup off leash to play in the water.

She sat in the sand and watched the water, hugging her knees to her chest and feeling foolish and wounded. She knew she'd be okay, eventually. In the scheme of things, this was nothing. Next to the deaths and losses she was still working through, this was just another small bruise. But right now, the pain of it was sharp and cold and hard to dismiss.  
  
Backup curled behind her like a cushion and people started filing onto the beach as the sun rose and warmed the sand. Veronica wanted to see it as a sign of hope: life goes on, the world keeps turning. But all she could see was a ubiquitous California day, with the slender bottle-blondes darkening their tans, the same wars and the same beefs and the same things to regret. A day like all days, only today, she felt broken.

* * *

When she developed the pictures, they were exactly what she'd hoped for. Veronica left them in Weevil's locker between classes, telling herself it was better that way. She needed the sharpness of the memories to fade before she talked to him again.

Later in the week, she finally convinced herself to wander over to his locker. She'd worked out the conversation in her head, how she'd ask easily about his cousin, and then maybe segue into something safe like the weather. She just wanted to show him that they could still be…whatever they'd been. Not friends, exactly, but not enemies, either. She wanted him to know that she didn't blame him for what had happened.

"Hey, V," he greeted blandly. "Slummin' again so soon?"

The million things she'd wanted to say dissolved. Her mouth hung open in shock for a moment before she remembered to close it, pasting on a wry smile. She hadn't been ready for that cruelty, somehow.

He must have seen something on her face before she covered it, because he put his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Hey, hey. It's all good." He turned back to his locker and grabbed a book before slamming it shut with a little more force than necessary. "I've gotta get to class."

He sounded hurt, angry, and lead formed in the pit of her stomach as she wondered if she'd misjudged him.

She watched him with a lump in her throat as he walked away. Finally, she remembered how to breathe.

* * *

The next day, Weevil was nowhere to be found, and it worried her. She knew his gang had been getting restless and she worried that maybe they'd confronted him. She was suddenly afraid of losing him, even knowing he wasn't hers to lose.

At the end of first period, she slipped out to the parking lot and drove away before she could think better of it. She just wanted to check on him, make sure he was okay. That was all.

But it occured to her that his house would be quiet, now, his grandmother working, his family out. If he was there, maybe she could talk to him and try to bridge the painful distance between them. She didn't know if they could pick up where they'd left off but she wanted him back in her life, one way or another.

She wasn't pretending that he was perfect. She knew that he made his living by stealing and fighting, gaining status and a reputation by being badder than the next guy. She'd watched Weevil start fights over a spot in the line at the cafeteria or someone brushing against his bike, and she'd cut down the aftermath of his rage from the flagpole at school more than once.

But he felt like her equal. He was confident and comfortable in his skin in a way that none of the 09ers were. He was gentle and careful with her; shuttered, which she understood only too well; fiercely loyal, which was a trait they shared. He'd reminded her who she was, or at least, who she wanted to be—smart and loyal and stubborn and most of all _alive._ That was a gift that couldn't be repaid. And she didn't _want_ to repay it, not really. She just wanted to be what she could for him, because he'd helped her feel human again, and she thought maybe, just maybe, she leant him strength.

She also knew that maybe their walks of life, so similar in some ways, so different in others, might be impossible to reconcile.

But since when had she been okay with maybes? Veronica Mars was about facts. Answers. She needed to _know._ There had been a time, before Meg's death, when she'd fought for what she believed in. Weevil had made her think that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Foolish or idealistic as it might be, she _believed_ in Weevil, believed in the bond they'd forged, believed in whatever that last night had meant when they'd been suddenly vulnerable to one another. However big or small the relationship, she _believed_ in it.

Now, she just needed to know if he felt the same.

* * *

His bike was parked out front, and Veronica was suddenly all nerves and fear as she walked up onto the porch, peace offering in hand. What if she'd been right the first time? What if he didn't want this? What if she was wrong, and he looked at her with flinty eyes and told her to leave? What then?

It almost scared her enough that she got back into her car and left. But not quite, because the constant pain of not knowing was infinitely worse than a clean, crushing blow. She knocked once and took a deep breath.

He cracked the door, peering out at her suspiciously before opening it just wide enough to frame himself: black jeans and tank, bare feet and sleepy eyes. Veronica swallowed hard and forced herself to smile—a tentative curve of her lips that she worried would be completely transparent. "Hey," she finally greeted.

Weevil's expression started out stony, and then he licked his lips nervously. Finally, he stepped aside. "Well, come on in," he said, and she was walking past him before he could change his mind. He closed the door behind her and followed her into the small kitchen. "To what do I owe this dubious honor?" he asked.

Veronica plopped down in one of the wooden chairs, forcing herself into their easy banter. She raised a hand to show him two DVDs. "We had a deal," she said. "You were going to show me how scary clowns can be, remember?"

A clown stared out of the front of the It DVD cover. "Great," he muttered. "What's that?" he asked, nodding at the other case in her hand.

She set down the first DVD and held up the other with a flourish. _Panic Room_. "I'm an equal opportunity girl." Her smile felt suddenly uncertain and vulnerable; her voice was soft. "I thought it was time we both faced our fears."

His expression opened suddenly and she dropped the movie as his hand found hers. Her breath shuddered out in relief as the tension in the air faded and he pulled her up into his arms, burying his face in her hair. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked softly, holding her so hard she could barely breathe.

"No, no," she murmured back, clutching him tightly. "Not you." She curled against him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Can we just start over?" she asked softly.

He chuckled. "Does this mean I need to steal your Ewok lunchbox again?"

She laughed softly and pulled away just enough to look at him with mock horror. "That was _you?_ " She leaned against him again. "Beast. Maybe somewhere in the middle, then," she amended.

His mouth hovered over her cheek, his breath tickling. "Or maybe a little bit further along," he murmured, running his tongue along the edge of her ear.

She gasped at the unexpected heat, and then shook her head and pulled away, keeping her hand on his. "Now, now. One thing at a time." She pointed vaguely at the DVD's. "So, who are we scaring first, you or me?"

He grinned and lifted a suggestive eyebrow. "I'm thinking…you. I have great fear-relieving techniques."

She flashed him a sly smile. "How fascinating! You'll have to demonstrate."

He didn't let go of her hand as she picked up the DVDs, and they walked into the small living room together.

He put _Panic Room_ in and sat down without starting it. Veronica chewed her bottom lip as silence stretched between them, and she watched his mask of mild amusement fall away to reveal something vulnerable. "Don't ever do that to me again," he said softly.

She swallowed hard, remembering how cold she must have seemed. "Weevil… _Eli_ …I'm so sorry."

He touched her cheek reverently. "I'm here for you no matter what. Just be straight with me, okay? That's all I'm asking."

She nodded once, slowly, her eyes fixed on his as he moved closer. "I'm sorry," she breathed, just before his lips met hers.

His mouth tasted like absolution. She wasn't sure she deserved it, really, but she accepted it anyway.


End file.
